


Disarm

by ObfuscatedEvanesce



Series: Told of Silver and Gold [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObfuscatedEvanesce/pseuds/ObfuscatedEvanesce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite everything, they were human. Their scales shimmered in the daylight still, because despite everything, they were  monsters within. But with a smile, they were disarmed all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Sean

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Kuku for beta reading. Your help is greatly appreciated.

Every night, we fall asleep in the same position. He'd lie on his back, broad chest heaving with his gentle breathing and his hands resting on his solid form. My own would roam the panes of his soft stomach. He'd shiver, twine his fingers into mine, turn to me and smile. Lazily and sleepily with those green eyes, silver in the dim light, he'd smile. 

"You always look so beautiful," he'd say to me, voice gravel with sleep. 

"Good enough to eat?" I'd whisper back. 

"Yeah."

The chaste kiss would remain on my nose as our legs entwined under the sheets until long after I drifted to sleep. Through the gnashing teeth and blood dribbling down our chins, I could always feel his kiss against my skin. 

Human though we are, it's hard to peel back the scales beneath our skin. 

I might be somewhat new to the monster scene, but he was always like this. I was just an ordinary dude with extraordinary skill in everything sports. Liam the all-star, the quarter back, the ringer! It's what I did, what I loved, and what I was. I didn't need a cheat code for life and nothing was particularly complicated - except trying to pick up girls, feeling uncomfortable when one was insane enough to give me a try, and ultimately blowing it. But I hear love is complicated for everyone. 

The clouds looming grey, the streets greasy with drizzle and oil, he sat there, on the smooth concrete balustrade reading amid the half-quenched lawn and dirt looking intense and miserable. It was the first time I saw him, a month into sixth grade year on my way home from school. Near his house, the air smelled less gasoline and exhaust and more of petrichor and sweet gardenia. His long lips wore a scowl, and his face scrunched up. That was my first memory of him - some kid with a rich family whom I've never seen in school or anywhere for that matter. 

I saw him regularly, about twice a week, almost always on the walk home. Usually he'd be reading, hunched over on the balustrade with his cat curled up in his lap. Other times he'd kick a soccer ball around like an amateur, chase his cat around the lawn, or just remain idle among the itchy grass and lie there. I've done the home school thing. That kind of freedom came with the price of loneliness. I wasn't jealous at all. 

Eventually, we started greeting each other. I wave, he scowls. Then on, his eyes would track me down the sidewalk, as if I were dangerous and he my prey. I enjoyed the thought, putting the reclusive kid on edge. Me a threat? Only to the opposing team, really. That is until Scott bit me as a result of my boyfriend trying to try not to eat me and now I'm a werewolf. 

Irony. 

I passed one morning only to find him dressed in a colorful tank top and these shimmering blue short shorts, and I couldn't help smirking. He wore his usual scowl which only deepened upon seeing me approach his gate, not in the usual manner of walking by. 

"So what are you, some kind of ballerina?" his facial features furrowed, and he appeared frightened for an instant, only an instant, as I rested my arms on the fence enclosing their yard. 

"Ballet dancer, actually," he scoffed, annoyed, "And no. I'm doing gymnastics?" and everything about his demeanor begged to be left alone. 

"What's the difference?" 

"Look, if you're gonna be an ass..." He growled, inching closer to the fence. 

I cracked a smile as soon as he reached arms length, "You'd kill your competition either way, right?" I said as I patted lightly him on the cheek, rough, calloused hand against too smooth skin. 

Given his solid, hunky frame and the definition lining his arms and legs, it looked like he entirely had the power to do it.

He just stood there mulling over, and looking rather confused while doing so. Suddenly, he beamed. His smile wide and eyes bright as he gripped my hand by the back, borderline uncomfortable and strong. 

"Yeah. I've a habit of eating them right up, and by the looks of it, so do you," suddenly animated and voice bright, he twisted my hand in such a way, he could easily see the inside of my palms. His inhumanely green eyes quickly onced me over, then fell directly into mine. 

"I guess you could say that - ow, ow ow?" At my complaint, he relinquished my hand, "Jeez. Not how I thought we would first hold hands," I joked kind of seriously, massaging the strains out with my other hand. He giggled an apology. 

"Sean!" his mother yelled. He glanced toward her as she beckoned their departure, "You're going to be late!"

The no nonsense type of mother with the big hair and wavy bangs pushed to either side of her face. Yikes.

His face returned to the usual scowl, but with less menace than before. His silvery gaze exchanged mine with hers, and his mom intensified hers with his and nodded over to the parked car. 

"Go on, Sean. Your mommy's waiting," I teased, smirking at the pinch-able pout he put on as he gravitated toward the waiting ride. 

He punched me square in the shoulder, mumbling, "I don't like you," and trotted off to practice. 

Then on, for about a month or two, I would greet him with a smile and wave, "Hello Sean," "Good afternoon Sean," "Nice weather we're having Sean," "Great to see you today, Sean," and always he'd respond with a wave, a stale face, and occasionally a smile. I liked having a friend like that - where the dynamic was simple. Easy to understand. 

One morning, Sean trotted up to the fence in loose fitting sweat pants and a plain white T-shirt as I made my greeting, and caught my wrist in steel choke hold. Again, his grip bordered uncomfortable and painful, and his lips long and pressed together on his stagnant face. 

"Tell me your name," he softly demanded, more with those silvery greens than with his voice. 

"I've never done ballet before. Is it fun?" I asked, genuinely curious. I've never been much of a dancer. 

He bored into me with his stare. 

"You know, if you wanted to hold hands, you're doing it wrong. Sean." 

Didn't faze him. 

"Mommy says I shouldn't talk to strangers, sorry," I mocked with a shrug, "and I really should get home. This homework's not gonna finish itself." I tugged my wrist free and surprisingly he lets go. 

"So you won't tell me..." and for an instant, his long lips twitched, crestfallen. I almost missed it. 

I ended up getting conned into receiving help with my algebra, and despite my not heading the paper, he stole my name off the textbook registry. I didn't mind though, he was great help, and the lawn looked prettier on the inside. The sweet aroma provided by gardenia and white roses, while sitting together on the stone balustrade, created a relaxing atmosphere. Sean. Surprisingly patient and gentle. He was a great teacher. 

I didn't see him for another two weeks for being phenomenally grounded. 

Sean was the only friend who wasn't school or sports related. It was refreshing, not worrying about last night's homework or who our next opponent was creeping its way into our conversation. That's not to say he never asked about those things - he even offered to help finish my work for the day sometimes. We fell into a loose routine, hanging in the afternoons in that front yard I'd become so familiar with. 

"You have so much meat in your fridge," I noted while rummaging the shelves for yogurt. 

"It's not even half of our storage..." he mumbled, to which I replied, "Huh?" He just shrugged it off. 

"Yeah...um. Don't eat any of that," he sauntered, peering over my shoulder, "It's for family dinners." His chin rested there as his damp form shadowed mine, one wet arm reaching around my side as he grabbed a whole, waxy, uncut lemon from the butter tray.

"Come on. Let's go finish your homework," he breathed softly. 

It was the first time I had ever seen the inside of his house. Flash flooding deluged the pavement in harsh white sheets. The angry banter of the rain clamored against the roof and echoed within the chambers of Sean's enormous house. It began so suddenly we were drenched before I could gather the gear we were playing with and pack away all my papers. Vengeful nature pushed us inside these hollow corridors. Something about the furnishing or the wood or the antiquity of it all, old-fashioned yet new and tidy, felt lonely and unsettling. Being the only two here didn't help the feeling. Neither did Sean's obvious uneasiness.

But Willow did. Willow rubbing against Sean's leg as we ascended the stairs to his bedroom definitely took the edge off my apprehension. 

"You know this is the first time I've ever seen you eat right?" 

He looked up, paused mid slice, and quirked an eyebrow, "So?" 

"You're eating a lemon without batting an eye." 

He shrugged. 

"Sourness has never bothered me anyway." He said, chomping on the round he carved out. He looked up at me and smirked. 

"Alright, " I huffed, snapping my history textbook closed, "Lesson time for Sean Walcott!" I exclaimed and launched myself at the sour-loving ballerina. 

"One: Liam Dunbar isn't Sour, but Hearty and Fulfilling!" I announced, tussling with Sean on his bed, not really caring that my papers would get crumpled in the hassle. He giggled, half-assing his pleas for me to stop. 

"TWO: LIAM DUNBAR DOES NOT APPRECIATE THE SHADE YOU ARE THROWING." He laughed as I pinned him, squeaking out his sorries. 

Suddenly his expression turn grave, and he flipped me over quicker than I could think. His hands roamed my body, frantically searching everywhere. He peeked under my shirt, and his eyes blew wide. I didn't really feel it, not until he tentatively grabbed the knife off the bed and showed it to me, slick with my blood. 

"Fuck," I whispered. It hadn't cut deep, but it still stung, "I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot." 

"You are..." 

Something in his demeanor clicked, and it was like when we first met again. It hurt, to say the least, and I felt rather childish as he fixed me up. The whole time, Sean seemed eerily reserved and anger exuded his soft features. He handled me gently regardless. 

"Look man, sorry for getting blood in your expensive sheets. It's probably really hard to clean." I spat, annoyed at the sudden coldness. 

"Don't worry about it. I shouldn't've let you roughhouse me with the knife in bed." he whispered, smoothing out the band-aid covering my lower stomach. 

"I hate the sight of blood."

For Sean, I wouldn't know how hard that afternoon was until ninth grade year. I would be kept in the dark about the utter surprise his mom would show after finding us alone in his room goofing off. I honestly thought she was mulling over the idea that we might be a thing, and she was just surprised Sean had even made a friend. Well, both turned out to be true. She had expected me to be over for dinner, Sean would tell me later, and that would never not be unsettling.


	2. Underneath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray Cannibalism! ._.

"Liam," he whined, not wanting to hand over his phone. 

"Come on, when have I ever laughed at something important to you?" 

He tilted his head and gave me that look. As if everything were obvious and I was missing it. 

“ _All_  the time?” 

Okay, he wasn’t lying entirely… exactly. At all. But it was never at him, most of the time. I laughed because I wanted him to feel more comfortable, especially around me. I would never judge him or think less of him, and I hope doesn’t think I had been all this time.  

"Okay, fair enough," I sighed, and inched closer to him. His surprise at my sudden change of tone didn’t escape me. I nudged our foreheads together and allowed myself to get lost in his eyes as I sat cross-legged in front of him.  His breath smelled faintly of citrus as always, soft and warm against my nose. 

"I’m not going to laugh. I promise."  I cooed, snaking my hands into his. I felt his grip loosen on his phone between our palms.

"You’re conning me into letting you see my music."  he grumbled, voice a rolling thunder.

"Maybe."  I whispered, and tilted into a brief kiss. 

I felt his phone slip into my hands before I heard the breathy, “Fine.”

Sean was never the outgoing type. Getting him into a social setting always took copious amounts of coercion, and outright failing was commonplace. He’s shy. Although I found it adorable, it worried me that he’d let that timidness get the best of him - that he’d become too attached to his loneliness. I never hesitated to invite him to my friends’ birthday celebrations, or the house parties down the block. I’ve only ever  managed to successfully bring him to mine, and before then everyone was certain I still had an imaginary friend. They still do, granted, because he wall-flowered the whole time and really only socialized with me. 

I felt my heart swell and grin. 

"Liar." He grunted, poking at the corners of my lips. 

I shrugged. 

"I like it." 

His smile overflowed with teeth, pearly whites nearly as bright as his eyes. Hanging his head, Sean ruffled around my bed as he often did when trying to contain his excitement. Eventually, he snuggled up to the pillow lying in my lap, and looked up at me. 

"Yeah…? Cool." 

Sean enjoyed more indie and classical sounds - music with certain somber undertones and haughty feelings. Basically like little novels he could sing to. The Civil Wars seemed to be his favorite, which I made a mental note for later. I tended to listen to more upbeat songs, pop-ier, and with more electronic sounds. Rock and heavy metal populated my playlist generously. 

I threaded my fingers amongst his sun streaked strands, adding slight pressure against his scalp in the way I knew would have him purring softly, deep within his chest.  He reached up, gently touching my cheek. 

“ _My nights are broken up by the sounds of women I’ll never meet_ …” he sung, gravelly and broken, yet smooth and clearly. His expression forlorn as he synchronized with the music he couldn’t hear, “ _And when my eyes are closed, I can start to feel you staring at me_.” 

I probably would have spent all of Saturday sitting there, listening to him sing his whole library. But my phone buzzed in my pocket, and all at once I remembered the track meet I was supposed the be attending. It was Mason. 

“‘Sup Mason. Y’all on your way?” I asked while watching Sean retrieve his cup of orange juice off my nightstand.

"Yeah. We just left Wally World, got a bunch of snacks," I could hear the satisfied grin on his face, " _Bring your DS this time_! You’ve been ducking this battle for three months now Dunbar.” 

"Alright, Alright." I conceded, "But be warned: I’ve had three months to prepare for this." 

"Three months well wasted when I waste your team. Anyway, we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. See you then, dude." 

"Oh, hold on. Um," I said quickly, catching Mason just before he clicked, "Hey, I’ve got this friend…. I don’t think you know him." I started, biting my lip. Sean, who had been scrolling through his phone while leisurely sipping orange juice, peeked up, giving me that questioning gaze.

"Uh, what about him?"

"He’s not much for words, but think he could come along?"

"Let me ask… Mom says yes."

"Thanks buddy! See you soon."

"Not a problem. Bye."  

Of all the things I expected Sean to say in response to me dragging him along to a tedious track meet, the last the thing on that list was,

"Okay, I’ll go." 

I chuckled a disbelieved, “What?”

"I’l go." He shrugged as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing ever.

"That all? All it took was a few song lyrics?," I asked, my hands on his broad chest pushing him flat against my bed as I straddled his waist. He nodded thoughtfully, then, 

"Yeah."

I beamed, taking in his beautiful face and pinch-able cheeks. 

"But if you even think about tickling me, I’m going to tear you apart," he warned, giggling. 

"Oh yeah?" I challenged, planting my hands on either side of his head, "We have fifteen minutes. Enough time to put me back together again?" 

He licked his lips, biting them as he ran a soothing hand up my arm. 

"Yeah…" 

Track meets sucked, but they sucked less with Mason and Sean. They lasted forever, it seemed, just waiting around for your event. You ran a little, wait for your next race, then ran a little more. I guess it would be loads more fun if I had teammates worth cheering on, but this lot was the jealous type, and had the balls to call _me_  conceited. 

Honestly, if it weren’t for Mason I wouldn’t even bother showing up. Basketball is more fun anyway. 

We huddled up on the night-chilled metal bleachers, as we waited for my last race to start. Sean sat one row above us, watching the glow of our DS’s illuminate the fabric of our thin track outfits underneath light jackets. He would periodically rest his chin on my shoulder and wrap his arms around my torso, the heat of embarrassment nurtured in the hearth of his warm, cozy body. Always while I’m fierce in the fray with Mason too, but our explosive competition didn’t bother him. When we were just roaming town, gathering items for our next battle, he would silently watch the movements of people around him with a disgruntled, worried expression. I offered to let him play while I ran, but he refused saying he’d rather cheer me on. Instead, we played together when Mason ran his (I still cheered him on). 

"Scrafty!" He wailed with glee, his breath ghosting the shell of my ear. 

"You WOULD High Jump Kick my Terrakion!"

"PerHAPS you should be less predictable on your double switch ins!" I laughed. He beat me twice faking the Gengar switch-in, but this time I came prepared.  

Sean squee-ed in excitement. He found the guy adorable, and even helped evolve him from Scraggy. I don’t normally use Scrafty, but for that reaction I’d even use an Unown. 

 ”Why’d you have to name it after the bae though? Now I feel all bad knocking him out,” Mason inquired as he took Scrafty out with an Air Slash. 

"Shit." 

He beat me again. 

They announced my race before I could challenge him and even the score again, and Mason gave a triumphant whoop, simultaneously cheering my performance, and celebrating his victory. I unwound myself from Sean’s embrace reluctantly. A biting chill breeze immediately crept along my skin as I stood up. 

A shiver ran through my exposed skin. 

 _Don’t you mean you_ shuddered _in anticipation,_  Sean would have shot back. The thought slipped a bit of easiness as I trotted away from my friends and up to the registry. The 800 meter relay. Not exactly excited about this. Being the last leg of the run only meant I’d have to sit here longer.  

Laura ran first. She tended to start and end well, but she tired out and lost a lot of time waiting for that last bit of burst. She ended her leg in third. Jessie had a more consistent pacing, a bit slower than Laura’s burst. Jessie steadily crept up to second. Sam managed to secure second just barely. He always slacked off the first lap trying to break past his insecurity. He straight up sprinted that last lap. 

I won us the relay. 

It didn’t matter. I couldn’t humanly celebrate my victory when someone died in the middle of it all. 

The mass hysteria, the initial scream - I was left in the wake of a hurricane, frightened and confused. I came to a brutal sight, despite the officials’ attempt at corralling the crowd. His name was Malcolm Spaybeck, a kid no more than two years my senior. His sister… his friends… his parents, they were treated to a flaying, insides ripped open and organs wet against the cold concrete lining the dark alley behind the bleachers.

Something sinister had feasted that night. 

In the middle of it all, I saw Sean comforting the girl who stumbled upon the sight. His arms in a fresh coat of red, splattered across his plain white t-shirt from removing the body from within the bleachers. 

"Dude…" I croaked into his chest, "What the fuck?"

"They’re saying it might’ve been a bear or puma or something," he mumbled, "But…" 

He hugged me tighter, burying his face into the crook of my neck, “They don’t hide their food, do they?” 


	3. Flayed Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be the last chapter. I'm really bad at getting to where I want though, and I realized all the pieces where quite there for me to finish just yet.

I remember that night, the blood dried underneath his fingernails stains of evidence he’d so desperately wished to ablute. I remember trails which ran rivulets and caked there, along his arms. I remember the vacant expression he wore; it only masked his crippling grief but so well. His shallow breathing and the near nervous breakdown. I was right there along with him. The sight of the freshly dead borrowed into my dreams and rotted there, waking me in all its horror. I remember the stars were beautiful that night, how the air felt crisp and fresh despite the cold and biting breezes. 

But what I didn’t remember was the scent of his breath.   
"Hey, Li." Mason whispered, nudging my shoulder. 

I didn’t respond. My lips terse, I gripped my cell tighter, turning the screen on the moment it went to sleep. 

"Relax. You haven’t been this tense since…" he thought about it, then, "Since that one time you actually turned in your math homework." 

I couldn’t. 

I felt everything inside me clench. My breath came sharp and my jaw locked as my heart accelerated. Sleep. Awake. Sleep. Nothing happened in between, just the image of the lock pad and our smiles blinking. 

It’s been three months. 

"Oh man, bring it in." 

I didn’t picture myself to be the clingy type, so I gave him space. I thought I was doing it right. I tried being understanding. He experienced a horrible death and that does something to you. I tried being supportive; I texted him and called plenty of times that I’d be there when he wanted to talk. I told him it wasn’t his fault. 

You don’t know ANYthing! 

Sean did what Sean does best. He hid away from everything. 

He didn’t even come out to greet me anymore. Willow still mewled and purred when I petted her as she perched atop the fence. It sucked. Losing Sean like that was more like having my arm slowly ripped from its socket. I could let it go if only he’d talk to me. More and more, I found, I just wanted to rip everything open until the truth lied exposed for everyone to see.

Otherwise, I’d probably go insane. 

That afternoon, I called my step dad and fed him some bullshit about staying late for lacrosse practice. I walked home as I usually did, down exposed roadways littered with brush and trees. The familiar evolution from rural to suburb guided me toward the gaudy neighborhood I became acquainted with, toward the beautiful home I eventually befriended. A whole swell of emotions bubbled through my anatomy as I inched down the grass-licked pavement dividing the lawn. A spark of giddiness, a flash of apprehension, but rage was the keynote feeling festering as I approached his door. 

The heavy redwood door shuddered under the weight of my fist. 

"Sean!" I screamed over the din of my pounding. 

"Sean!" but no matter how loudly or how long I knocked, there came no answer. Blood coursed in my ears and my heart beat to my increasingly erratic rhythm. It felt like suffocating and the only way to breath was to destroy the dam standing in the way.

“This isn’t fair, Sean!” the door shook on its hinges, “You can’t just - YOU CAN’T JUST LEAV -” I tried quelling the flash of anger, but it the breath I took was only a drop of water on an iron skillet, “What did I do?!” 

I knew how pathetic I sounded, how irrational I was being. As I grew more exasperated, I became utterly aware of how quiet everything was. No one was probably even home. I turned to leave, but suddenly felt tired. 

"I don’t deserve this," I sighed, sliding down the smooth wood surface. 

"Why won’t you talk to me?" I drew my knees to my chest and resigned to stay there until dusk fell. "Maybe I should have asked you in song lyric?" I mumbled, resting my cheek on my knees. 

My palms throbbed and stung, and I felt a similar heat trailing down my cheek. Shame and stupidity pierced this hollow silence. Not even the blades of grass whispered my idiocy. The clouds stared in any direction but here, floating on without notice. No vehicle blinked or mumbled. The houses carried on in their conversation. 

“And the worst part is before it gets any better we’re headed for a cliff. And in the free fall I will realize I’m better off when I hit the bottom.” 

Suddenly, the knob jiggled, and slowly the door opened. I quickly stood up, attempting to dry my sniffling face in the process. 

"Hey, you must be Liam." his brother greeted with a smile and a wave. He couldn’t have been no more than two years older, and it was my first time ever seeing him in person. 

"Sean isn’t here at the moment, but feel free to come on inside," he gestured, widening the door gap in invitation. "Let’s sit in the dining room. We’ll talk," he said, ushering me inside. 

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…fuck." I strangled, wiping my eyes again, as I sat down. 

"You did," he shrugged, "but it’s alright. Jeez, you look delicious. No wonder he couldn’t resist you, " he smiled, but he never took his seat. He’s way different. Very talkative. Expressive. He was taller, but also slimmer, and less gold laced his hair, and his green eyes were void of that familiar silver shine. 

"I need to go upstairs for a minute. Just wait here. You’re free to eat anything in the pantry. I’ll be right back."

He must think I’m pathetic. Some lovesick teenager beating down his door, crying. He’ll probably come down and give me the talk, tell me his brother is too good for me, and I should move on. He’d be right, I guess.

I hadn’t even realized just how invested in him I was. It felt natural, as if things were always that way. It’s not like we ever said, “I love you,” branded the title Boyfriend. It just kind of was. Now it wasn’t. 

"Liam!"

Loud thumping down the staggered staircase immediately drew my attention. His husky form dashing graceless and sloppy didn’t register until he was already peering into me, as if inspecting my every feature. He glanced back at his brother, who had followed leisurely after, with an expression I couldn’t see, but had every certainty it was of annoyance. His brother mouthed, Sorry, and slinked upstairs once again. 

"You’re okay." he deflated, worry ebbing from his long, tense lips. My brow furrowed and I felt my anger boiling up again.

"I’m really not,” I growled, feebly attempting to simmer down. Sean was unreadable; his gaze unfaltering from mine.

"You shouldn’t be here." 

"Why. Not." I didn’t understand how he could stay so calm when I sat there coming unraveled, "Am I not welcome any more? Am I not go -" I slammed my fist on the table and bit my tongue, trying desperately to swallow it all. "You asked your brother to lie to me?"

"Yeah," he hung his head, taking in the ivy vines lacing the table’s design, "I’m trying to avoid you."

"Obvio-"

"I’m trying not to hurt you."

"You’re doing a shitty job." 

He sighed. There was no hesitation when he took my hand into his, and turned it over in his firm grip. My palms still stung and blushing from earlier. 

"Look Sean, I’m not a piece of garbage. I know you think I’m too stupid to understand whatever the hell is going on with you. If I’m no longer worth your time, you should just be honest and tell me," and the feel of his palm against my knuckles completely diffused me. Nearly three months of static, and the little things he does, like holding hands in all the wrong ways, they still put me off edge. 

"You’re not safe with me, Liam." his voice cracked, and he clenched his fist against his temple, screwing his eyes shut how he does when he’s trying to keep from crying. "I thought It’d be easier if you just forgot about me, but I really don’t want to lose my first real friend and," his voice grew darker. Taking my face in his hands, he snared me with a sinister silvery gaze.

"I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me if you knew.” 

He wouldn’t get around to telling me for another year. 

I saw less of Sean, but we got along well enough. Nothing else really changed; we fell back into a comfortable rhythm. I had nearly forgotten his words that afternoon, because no matter how closely I looked, I saw nothing but this ginormous grumpy teddy bear who smiled on occasion. I came to the conclusion that maybe he experienced far too many deaths and eventually began associating himself as the cause. Perhaps he was terrified of killing me off with bad luck. 

"You’re probably too stubborn to die that way."

He’s definitely right about that. 

It took awhile, but I finally got him hanging out at places other than his ballet recitals and gymnastic competitions again. I used to think maybe he hadn’t trusted me enough to be honest, but after awhile, I saw it was himself he needed to trust. Somehow, we found time to fool around while everything was going on. Especially during his gymnastics, with the light, nearly see-through tank top and short shorts which left little to the imagination. Watching his muscles flex and chest heave as he carved the air turned out to be a pretty big turn on. 

For Sean, it was ambushing me after a game or practice of lacrosse and inhaling me, musky before a shower. Sometimes he joined - after everyone had left. 

I still had anger issues, where I’d explode with no one around to stop me. Sean had no problems using strength to subdue me, being phenomenally stronger than me. However, eight hours of unchecked opportunity left room for the fruition of disaster. 

I had been trying to convince Sean to attend a regular school (with me), and experience all high school had to offer (together). Resistance was expected, but surprisingly he decided to consider it. I went into that lacrosse game excited. 

Ended up benched with a red card all because some tall douchenozzle kept jeering at my hickey. I broke his ankle, but he broke my feelings.

But my rage didn’t just end there. Coach took me out of the whole season! For a little rough pay. It was unfair, and definitely nepotism. If it had been anyone other than Brett, I would have been punished normally and only sat out one game. So I etched This is your fault! into the side of his car in retribution, because it really was his own fault he spawned such an asstastic son. 

It was the best my anger had ever gotten of me. In that moment, I became a monster.


	4. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS GOT REALLY FUCKING LONG (for me). Omg this is super unbeta'd, but I just finished it so I'll probably be taking a day or two to read over and polish any silly errors and such.

"You’re still pouting."

"Yeah. I’m still pissed." 

His fingers ghosted over the light patch trailing down my navel, then ventured up the skin of my stomach, splaying across my chest. His other arm slung around my collar as he secured me against his sturdy frame. 

"You’re still adorable when you’re pouting," he giggled into my neck as his bare feet, dipped into the lake, stirring ripples against my ankles. 

We sat shaded underneath an old, squat pine tree, farther from the glee and din of trail-runners, dog-walkers, and the horde of ultimate freesbie challengers competing amid fresh green grass down the lake. Technically I shouldn’t be here, but Sean urged me out of the house knowing my step-dad would have a long shift tonight at the hospital. The park was only three blocks away from his house (two from mine), and we hadn’t done anything together since my fatal grounding and transferal to Beacon Hills High a week ago. 

As long as I get home before he does…

I groaned.   
"I told you shorts would have been a better idea," he commented as my rolled up pant leg subtly slipped just under the water’s surface. 

"You weren’t supposed to agree like that…" I growled, leering at our cuddled reflection broken against hazy waves. He hummed a questioning Hm? as he set his chin upon my shoulder. 

"Because I screwed up this badly, I feel like I’m forcing you into going to this school with me.” 

Beacon Hills High didn’t take me past his house anymore. 

In fact, I had to ride the bus home now. 

He chuckled, “I had already made up my mind. Finally got my family to agree, so it’s just a matter of paperwork. Don’t get so worked up.” 

How could I not? Even Mason got dragged into my crap. The eyes with which they glared held so much contempt; I had never known so much hate. It felt like burning alive 

A new start was what I needed. I didn’t deserve such great friends accompanying me. 

Ivory vessels sunk into my neck, leaving shallow indentations as his playful mouth sailed the curve of my shoulder up to the lobe of my ear. Each nibble paid particular care and attention, and he’d kiss each area slowly and meticulously. I got lost. Everyone else around disappeared, absconding with my frustrations. 

Public intimacy was a foreign concept to me. Sometimes it could be a little intimidating. Dad didn’t even know, hadn’t even met Sean properly. Probably thought we were just as tight as me and Mason. Honestly, Sean was always sort of an accidental secret; no one knew, but not because I didn’t want them to. 

Between becoming a social pariah and sneaking out past curfew, convincing Dad to let me join Beacon Hills’ lacrosse team was nothing less than warfare. He caved after conning me into every house chore imaginable, including, but not limited to plucking weeds from the lawn, mowing it, and scraping garbage out of the gutters. 

Can’t say I didn’t deserve it though. 

“Made the lacrosse team WHOO!” I texted Sean after showering and successfully avoiding these two insane juniors who kept stalking me, and asking these extremely outlandish questions. 

“Was there really any doubt?” He sent back, and I swear I could hear his chuckle and intonation perfectly. 

“Why’d you send this to me, I WAS THERE, you dork,” Mason sent a few minutes later

“lol”

“Oh oops”

“Oh btw, when will the bae be joining us on the field?” 

I smirked, looking up and down the empty halls, half expecting those goons to randomly pop out. Sean might object to it from time to time, but I can tell how happy it makes him. 

“Lacrosse isn’t my thing,” was his reply. 

“Next Monday. So excited,” I supplied shortly after. 

And truthfully, I legitimately was. The prospects of starting fresh, making new friends, and leaving the past behind left me in a vibrant buzz. Not did I make the lacrosse team, but I might also be the youngest player to become captain. Everything was good. I was happy. 

I broke my leg. 

My confidence almost ended my season before it even started. I was running circles around the team’s best players during goalie runs and even scored on the last captain and his best friend during two-on-ones. Thankfully though, it turned out only my ankle displaced when Scott checked me. It’d probably miss a game, but it’s far better than the permanent ruination I feared when I crashed against Scott’s fierce frame and ended up writhing in the grass, clutching my ankle. 

Despite inherently doing nothing wrong, I still felt fangs of shame sink into my skin, gripping me as I lie on the hospital bed with my ankle tied so neatly. Yet again, I overstepped my limitations. Dad might be disappointed. That’s not a look I like seeing him wear. 

I inhaled the medicinal stale as I shifted atop whispering sheets. Being alone with my thoughts left me yearning and with a certain desperation for some shred of redemption. I can keep myself under control. 

Cut through the bleach scrubbed hallway, a woman’s scream jolted me perfectly upright. Fear fueled that outcry, not pain. Faint footfalls whimpered their fervency. My curiosity unabated, I hobbled cautiously into the open doorway. 

"Hello," I called nervously. 

No one stirred in the empty silence. 

Determined, I limped down the dimly lit hallway.

I wasn’t sure exactly what I could do, but I followed the desperate plea anyway. No one screams like that in a hospital, not when morphine remained a surgical remedy. Could nightmares make someone go that ballistic? It seemed more likely that someone had…

A figure darted around the corner. I barely glimpsed the light grey sweat pants and plain white T-shirt. I probably should have been frozen in fear, but familiarity disarmed me. 

When…why was Sean at the hospital?

Was he alright?

Was that even him? 

"Hey!" I called after as I limped faster. 

"Se-?" 

His growl rolled with threatening bass, and as he faced me, confusion, fear, and anger began its cascade. He leered at me with murky grey eyes, long lips painted freshly red and little bits of his previous deed dotted his mouth and chin. His T-shirt had been relegated to a used napkin. His hands gloved in blood. 

I didn’t know this creature. Only its shape. 

"Liam run!" Scott yelled behind me. Out of instinct, I turned to face him, but instead was met with a ferocious red-eyed monster. Even his voice had undertones of a feral creature. Those crimson pair burned something in me with their chill gaze. 

Instantly, Sean snatched me up with inhuman strength, dragging me off at his whim. I struggled, pleaded for him to let me go, but he was relentlessly set. 

"LIAM," I heard Scott roar after me, but somehow, even with me fighting against Sean’s grip the whole way through, Sean was faster. 

I didn’t know why any of this was happening, why I was suddenly thrust into a situation so surreal and nightmarish. My heart stampeded in my hollow chest as raw fear coursed like poison through my veins. I breathed in a heavy metallic scent as my face pressed against his blood soaked shirt. 

In that moment, I realized. I would be murdered tonight. By the person who meant the most to me. 

Scott chased us throughout the hospital’s corridors, all the way to the roof where he cornered Sean. My apprehension rose quickly the closer to the edge Sean crept, until I was screaming as he dangled me over. 

"You don’t have to do this!" he tried to reason, "Me and my friends? We could help you control it, whatever you are."

"Wendigo don’t need help…" and it was so utterly Sean-like that I forgot our circumstances completely and yearned to just talk him out of his shell. That insidious need to handle all his problems on his own was always my least favorite aspect of him, but one I enjoyed helping him with. 

Wait, did he say food?

He let go, and never have I been so terrified hanging off the the hospital roof seven stories high, the back night glowing amber with lamplight and neon signs as the pavement waited to swallow me whole. I screamed in disbelief as Sean tried to pry my fingers off, with Scott desperately attempting to pull him away. 

With one hand off, and it looking like Sean would be successful in sending me to a screaming death, this motherfucker decided it was a good idea to bite me. I understood nothing about this whole ordeal. Something far stranger than fiction was happening right before me, and it felt like I was playing a game without knowing the rules. 

By some dues ex machination, Sean collapsed with a grunt and a sickening thud, allowing Scott to pull me up to safety. 

It was a man with no mouth, the reason my friend lied with an ax impaled in his back. I whimpered, cradling my bitten arm while processing everything that just happened - and the twinge of something different stewing underneath. Scott ran off looking as if he had done something irreversible, leaving me atop with nothing more than the faint hum of cars passing by and the phantom touch of a nightly breeze. 

He lied there, motionless. 

I wanted very much to hate him. To be angry. I was in love with a murderer and a liar, apparently. But still, I wanted some kind of closure, to be able to ask why. Why did he want to kill me? Was the plan really to crack me like an egg against the counter top, then lap up my insides? 

And oh my god, the fridge! Malcolm!

I thought he hated the sight of blood?

I had had enough of sitting here alone, and people might get the idea that I axed him if I stayed any longer. Just as I stirred to limp all the way back to my room, He groaned, drawing his legs up to sit up, not even bothering with removing the ax. Fear spiked for a brief moment. Without Scott, or even the mouthless man, I wouldn’t even be able to run for my life. 

But Sean just drew his knees into his chest, and sobbed. He didn’t even look in my direction - I doubt he even noticed I was there. He sobbed, and I could feel his utter despair as my heart tied itself into tiny little knots. Sympathizing with a killer, especially who not too long ago just tried to eat me, was the least sane thing I could do at the moment, but this image was exactly the Sean I knew. I couldn’t help it. There’s so much, I’m realizing, that I really don’t know. 

He did, at one point, try to warn me about this, right? 

He looked down at his shirt in horror, stood up and tore it off, then frantically wiped his face of the human gunk. I winced as he moved about, the tomahawk going completely ignored. 

"Sean," I whispered, despite all common sense. 

What turned to meet me was nothing more than a frightened kid. His eyes were no longer that murky, otherworldly silver. Only the lucid emerald silver, watery with remorse, gazed into mine. 

He ran, like he always did. 

That morning, news spread of the hospital incident. Sean’s family had been slain the night before while everyone slept, forcing him to flee on foot, to the hospital so far from home, with glass-shattered and bloody hands. The bodyguard assigned to him became Sean’s feast, with Ms. McCall as his unsuspecting guest. The news report chalked it up to the killer attempting to finish the job, and the officer was just in the way, but I knew better. Sean ripped him open, like Malcolm years ago, and fed.

I wondered why Scott’s mom didn’t say anything to the police about almost being eaten. Instead of it being a search-and-rescue, Sean would have a manhunt on his trail if the story had been released any differently. Maybe Scott persuaded his mom to omit that information and was serious about helping Sean learn control. If by control, he meant not consuming a fellow human, Sean seemed to have a handle on that…. for the most part. In reality, he was the most controlled person I had ever known. 

Wendigo don’t need help. They need food.

"They" 

Not ”We”. 

What the hell is a wendigo anyway? I sat down in the school library, alone, researching the topic over my shoulder.

Perhaps I really was insane, trying to find some hope to believe in - that Sean was as genuine and honest as I knew him to be, and he didn’t want the life he had. The look of a ravenous predator nested in his eyes, the kind driven by primal survival instinct. There lied no joy, only the necessity to stave of the misery in starvation. 

The week that followed was nothing short of spectacular misfortune. Every attempt at contacting Sean fell through. I would like to blame my recent surge of uncontrollable anger at that, but oh no. I knew exactly the source of my contempt. Those bastards duct taped me and threw me in a tub. They warned me of a change coming, that I need to prepare myself. Even with all the weird shit I’ve seen recently, I would have blown it off had I not already felt it, something, roaring underneath. My anger had a new voice to it, and it rises like the surging tides. It was harder to control, and I already had none. 

I didn’t want to believe something like this would be happening to me, things I couldn’t quite explain. Or understand. 

I ran home, away from the nutcases who absconded with me, straight into the safety of my room and locked it shut. Heaving, I sat against the door, as if it could keep all my troubles on the other side. 

"Please pick up." 

He didn’t. 

“Dude, these guys are saying I might change or DIE on the next full moon and I really could use your help getting them to leave me alone.” 

Moments passed. All the adrenaline from sprinting all the way home ebbed into a sigh of familiar disappointment. 

“I’m scared.” 

I shut my screen off and set it between my legs, and wiped my face in exasperation. I fought back the sting of tears welling in my throat, and instead tried to focus on one good thing. At least my ankle healed quickly. I’d be able to have some sort of distraction instead of coddling over an injury and feeling sorry for myself…

“You need to listen to them,” was his near instant reply. So many thoughts and questions cascaded through my mind that I wanted to talk to him about. I spent several minutes turning my phone screen on and off just trying to think of something to say. 

“Are you okay?” was all I could manage. 

As an after thought, I added, “You were right. I don’t understand anything.” 

“…I’m fine. You were bitten by an alpha. He tried to save you…from me. I didn’t want to involve you in any of this, Liam.”

An alpha? Scott? Alpha what? Werewolf? 

While I mulled over, he sent, “We can talk, once I get myself under control. You can bring your alpha if it makes you feel safer.” 

I keened at the insinuation. I still trusted him way more than Scott or Stiles. I knew what it was like hating that small part of myself that insists on itself louder than I’d ever willingly allow. Being a wolf, or wendigo, or whatever - it was nothing I hadn’t already dealt with being an IED. 

I was already all too familiar with how difficult his could be, but I wasn’t prepared for how much worse my anger would make this experience. It felt like a constant state of heart attack after that night. Being lied to and tied up again still infuriated me, but I knew they had the best intentions at heart. I would have hurt a lot of people at that party had Scott and Kira not been watching me. 

I wouldn’t have even invited literally everyone in the ninth grade had they not lied to me. 

The weekend whirled by, and Monday came all too fast. During the weekend, I could shy away from the painful noises of the everyday routine, and the acrid odor of the bathroom stalls. I could practice managing my strength, do a few push-ups, then work on coordination and breathing all on my own time. Where I could relax at home and not fear overwhelming stimuli, that commodity wasn’t awarded here. I sat in my English class, biting the inside of my cheek as pencils grinded against smooth paper and classmates raged on about the epic party Friday night. 

I closed my eyes and listened as students piled in, making sure I could hear their heartbeat, one at a time, footsteps syncopating. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and made a note to put it on silent later. It was actually kind of cool, being able to discern different conversations between the din. My mind wandered over to other classrooms as I tested the limits of my focus. I grinned upon hearing Mason’s voice several corridors over. 

"May I sit over there?"

"Sure. Rachael hardly uses it anyway. Take your seat and we can begin." 

I hadn’t noticed that class had started nor the new kid who -

Sean’s slight smile as he seated was unmistakable. I’m fairly certain my eyes flashed in my excitement. 

"What are you doing here?" I whispered the lesson began. 

He shrugged, attention glued to the blackboard as he supported his chin with the palm of his hand. 

"Learning?"

The scales beneath his skin remained hidden there, a caged beast unknown to the innocence surrounding us. Normality was the strangest thing, after falling victim to the horror myself. He answered questions and read passages aloud, and took notes with a serene grace Sean had always been characterized by. Exactly how I always imagined him in a classroom: more intelligent than most, reserved and gentle composure, and never came off as condescending toward those with a lesser understanding than him. 

People liked him. I could hear it in their beating hearts and in whispered conversations. As much as it made me happy, jealousy flared beneath the surface. But I could tolerate that far better than making up stories about his family behind his back. 

Then I remembered this is the same guy who almost had me for dinner. 

"I looked up what a wendigo is. Does regular food not do it for you?" I whispered loudly above the clamor of the lunchroom as I sat across from him. 

He turned his attention from the tuna sandwich and gave me a long-lipped wince. 

"It… helps," and he opened wide, taking a huge chunk out of the sandwich, "Lemons especially. I don’t know why, but they do."

"And the refrigerator? Was all of that…?"

"No. Most of it was deer meat, a few mice, and a stray dog."

"Most."

"Yeah…"

I grimaced at the thought. What if bits of Malcolm ended up stored like some leftover doomed to be forgotten in the back of a fridge? 

"SEAN!" Mason exclaimed, trotting up to our table, "Buddy! How are you?" 

"Fine, I guess," Sean replied offhandedly, rolling his tongue in his cheek as Mason sat. 

"No really. How is everything?"

I knew exactly what he was getting at. I would have asked as well if I hadn’t already known his answer was going to be just,

"I’m alright." 

With that the conversation veered so far into comfortably familiar, I forgot for the moment that everything was not okay. 

Sean told me later, during study hall in the library together, that he was staying in a foster home. He hated living there, but not necessarily because of the house or the people in it. The danger tethered to his existence made his stay guilt ridden and nerve wrecking. 

Even without the wendigo, or the assassin, Sean wouldn’t have felt comfortable settling with strangers. 

"You could…" I trailed off timidly as I fiddled with Sean’s hand, spreading his fingers apart and pushing them together. My thumbs smoothed against his palm while my fingers rolled between the ridges of his bones. I’ve seen the evidence of these hands do terrifying things. Yet, I’ve experienced these same hands perform remarkable pleasures, roaming my body wonderful ways. Touch, lately, was an awkward thing, but its absence felt remiss. 

I didn’t finish the thought. His brows knitted tightly and his eyes glimmered. He wasn’t angry or sad. It was the paint of incredulity which garnished his face.

"Walk me home, at least. You owe me that much." 

He nodded with that stale expression. 

Because we didn’t have practice, I was able to go straight home after seventh period. As I hiked my backpack up my shoulder and prepared to meet up with Sean, Scott slammed my locker shut, shoving me harshly against it. 

"What the hell are you doing? Why is he here? At school?”

Immediately I felt my anger flare up, only to be amplified by the curse. I breathed heavily, huffing and growling as I tried to get in under control. 

"He’s my friend." I snarled. 

"He tried to eat my mom!" Scott whisper-screamed, not wanting to attract any attention. 

"He tried to eat me." 

That seemed to be enough for Scott. He backed off in disbelief, slowly, but I swear I saw a lopsided grin as he walked away. 

Sean greeted me with sad, tired eyes as we met up in the parking and began our trek to my house. 

"Why do you still hang out with me?" He asked, barring the traditional welcome. I thought about it; that was the question I’ve been asking myself recently. How silly would it be to admit that I love him - say it with those exact words "I love you," finally and clearly. To finally have those cards on the table so there lied no mistake, no confusion. That my feelings for him haven’t changed despite knowing how he gets when he hadn’t had a snickers. 

"Stockholm syndrome, probably."

"I got you bit, Liam. I wanted to tear open your stomach and eat your liver. Yours, Liam.” He insisted, clear greens and silvers holding my gaze with a long-lipped scowl. 

"It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve torn me open," I replied, rolling my eyes. I found it funny how people felt the need to keep reminding me that I was going to be eaten when I was the one going to be eaten. I know. 

"Liam," he stopped me, placing both hands on my shoulders, and snared me with murky silver eyes, "this is what I am. A cannibal. A monster," then with weeping emeralds, "How can you be okay with that?"

"Because," I huffed, placing both my hands on his still pinch-able cheeks, "This is also you." My left hand weaved through his soft hair on the back of his hair, fingers gently massaging his scalp. In a brief moment, I got lost in his lips. As we pulled away, I could hear his risen heart rate slow to a comfortable pace. 

We dropped that conversation in lieu of lighter banter the rest of the way home, only picking it up once we were sat in my bed, alone together away from prying ears. 

"My ancestors were feral hunters. The real monsters who embraced their inhumanity. They look like demons. Like something straight out of hell. They sometimes come to family reunions." 

He paused, swallowed hard and gave a meek smile, “Mike and Mom supported my lifestyle, but Dad didn’t agree. Wouldn’t even mention my existence to the the rest of my family.”

"Yeah? Well fuck them." I scoffed, tossing my papers aside and changed the playlist to Motion City Soundtrack while we did homework.

”I’ll be honest though, your mom seemed like the tough one.” 

"Naw, you were just the first person outside the family I had talked to. She thought I might eat you in the front lawn."

I froze, quirking an eyebrow. 

"I wasn’t going to!" 

"I was your first human? That’s so cute!," exclaiming, I tackled Sean and pinched his cheeks, "No wonder you were so bad at holding hands." 

"Liam." he grunted painfully, seizing both my hands in his. 

"Don’t." 

I remembered then, something I had been meaning to ask him. Carefully, I sat him up with our interlocked hands. I realized I was practically in his lap, but it didn’t really matter. He released my hands to roam where they pleased, but I had only one intention. Maneuvering myself behind him, I sat on my knees as I lifted his shirt up and tossed over toward the closet.

My hands explored endless muscle and porcelain smooth skin. 

Peering at me over his shoulder, he explained, “We don’t heal as fast as you. But only two things can kill us: starvation, and fire.” 

"Sorry," I whispered, kissing the crook of his neck as I snaked my arms around, one hand brushing the ridges of his stomach, the other gripping his side. 

"It isn’t fair how humans get to dictate morality." he sighed and gripped the back of my hand, twining his fingers into mine. 

"You’re not eating other wendigo, so can you really be considered a cannibal?" 

He grinned, “Shut up.” 

Control was always a challenge, especially for me. Even with my werewolf strength, Sean could easily subdue me (probably the one thing Scott like about him). I once was so furious, my fangs snapped inches from his face, but I remember Sean’s face steady and his body immobile. Full moons were the worst. For awhile, he had to take me deep in the forest and babysit me all night until I tired out. It was like that, when we discovered full moon sex. We still went to the forest, but only to spare my bed. 

Yes I’m implying Dad adopted him. No it wasn’t weird that we were legally brothers.

For Sean, he was always in control until he wasn’t. His ravenous outburst occurred so infrequently, it always managed to almost get out of hand because of how ill prepared we were. We’re talking years of doing fine, and then one night of terror. Scott and Stiles and Kira and Lydia had already graduated and I was left alone with Mason to handle a creature who could pin and fuck me on a full moon, even without being monstered out. 

We managed to steal a cadaver from the hospital before he could made a meal of Mason

One late midnight, as Sean and I were cuddled watching The Originals on Netflix, his hunger pangs began a slow simmer. The signs weren’t obvious all the time, but that night he straight up warned me.

"Liam. I’m so hungry," he whined, curling up tighter and screwing his eyes shut. I bolted upright, suddenly scared. 

"I don’t think we have any lemons downstairs," whispered quickly, pushing back the strands shadowing his forehead. He ate the last of the meat stash yesterday. Brett and I were going hunting for more tomorrow afternoon. (He still wasn’t a huge fan of mine, but he and Sean got along nicely). 

"Hang on, I’ll go find something." 

I rummaged through everything, even the deep fridge we weren’t supposed to open often. I threw a pack of ribs I found, buried beneath frozen greens and ice, into the oven to thaw, then ran back and jumped in bed. 

"Found some ribs. Think you can hold out ten minutes?" 

He nodded, but I could see the murky silver peeping through the crack of his eyes. 

"Hey hey," I consoled, sliding next to him atop the covers. 

"If," and with fear suddenly saturating my voice, "If you can’t.. just take a bite out of me," I trembled, pulling my tank top. 

He peeled his eyes open, meticulously climbing on top of me and his eyes never broke contact with mine, swirling and shining like storming clouds. 

"Are you sure… Liam?" his voice was husky and rough from the feral insanity slowly taking over. I nodded. 

I watched, mesmerized and terrified as his teeth bared against the skin of my stomach. The slightest pressure would send those razored ivory vessels plunging into me. I would bleed and scream, and beg him to stop. It was only supposed to be one bite, but I was foolish enough to think it was enough. 

The bite never came. Just the silhouette of a monster staring back at me in the dark room. 

"I couldn’t do it." 

"What if…" and mostly curiosity, and a little relief fueled this epiphany. Honestly, I could have just ran downstairs and chucked the ribs at him, but I couldn’t be sure he’d be this stable when I come back, or that he’d even be here. Dad was sleeping down the hall. 

I pierced my own palm with claws extended, screwing my eyes shut to mute out the pain. 

"You want me to…?" he almost deadpanned, looking from my bleeding palm to me. 

"Think of it as one of those protein diets." I laughed nervously.

The possibility of him chewing off the whole thing was still impossibly real.

Sean took my hand and brought it to his lips, always locked with my fearful gaze. He lapped at the torn tissue, his tongue tickling the indentations as they rapidly healed. Soon, he was licking a perfectly clean hand and then my face, giggling profusely. 

"It worked?!" I laughed as he frisked me, rubbing his slobber all over my cheek, "That was enough?"

"Yeah, you fucker." He snickers, pinning my arms above my head, "I’m actually really full."

"How’s that a bad thing?" I asked cockily, smirking up at him.

"If this keeps working, you’ve effectively turned me into a vampire."


End file.
